


even if you haven't had the questions yet

by justbreathe80



Category: ReGenesis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbreathe80/pseuds/justbreathe80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sat up straight again, staring out of the front window and watching the mourning families winding through the pastoral scene, among the stones, his hands clutching the steering wheel like some kind of anchor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	even if you haven't had the questions yet

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to both brooklinegirl and mrsronweasley for wonderful betas, and to minervacat for listening to me rant about some Canadian biomedical drama she's never seen.

here was nothing worse in the whole world than a fucking funeral.  Joanna had good Midwestern parents, suitably devastated at the loss of their only daughter. David had to keep himself, more than once, from laughing inappropriately as the minister droned something about the lord being with her, and thinking about what her parents would think if they knew their daughter at all. 

He knew his shrink would tell him that he was just feeling emotion, any emotion, over losing the first woman he'd let get any closer than his dick since Jill left.  He thought his shrink could go fuck herself.

Carlos sat next to him, straight-faced.  Joanna's parents had been so fucking happy to see him, hugging him, and he'd done every goddamn thing right while David just stood there with his hands in his pockets, not sure how or if to tell them that he was pretty sure he'd made the monumentally stupid mistake of falling for their daughter right before she took off for Wisconsin.  And she was dead, so what did it matter anyway?

They begged off of the post-funeral luncheon.  David was barely listening as Carlos made some polite excuses about work and trying to figure out what had happened to Joanna and having to go to California, and then they both said goodbye and walked to David's car. 

Once they got inside, Carlos sat, staring straight ahead.  David could see his hands shaking, just barely, where they were resting on the tops of his thighs.  David leaned over Carlos, the heat of his Carlos' body seeping through the layers of suits and dress shirts between them, to open the glove compartment.  He reached his hand inside, feeling around, not really knowing what he was looking for until it wasn't there.  "Fuck," David hissed, pulling his hand out and slamming the glove compartment shut.  He sat up straight again, staring out of the front window and watching the mourning families winding through the pastoral scene, among the stones, his hands clutching the steering wheel like some kind of anchor. 

"David," Carlos said softly, his hand wrapping around David's forearm.  "What are you looking for?"

"Goddamn it," he yelled, loud enough that an old couple walking by the car turned to look at them.  He shook off Carlos and slammed his hands down, hard, on the dashboard over the steering wheel.  The jolt went right up the bones in his hands into his forearms, and the sting was good, it was _right_.  He turned to look at Carlos, waiting for him to try to stop him, to soothe him somehow, but Carlos didn't.  He just sat there, breathing, looking like he didn't have the energy to stop David from doing something fucking stupid.  "I need a drink," David said, dropping his head, staring at his feet.

"I need a cigarette," Carlos answered, and David couldn't help but laugh, because Carlos never seemed to need anything - not to need anyone at all - and here they were at his fucking ex-wife's funeral, talking about the crutches they both desperately wanted. 

David reached back over and felt Carlos press slightly, minutely, closer as he finally got his hand around the pack of cigarettes in the glove compartment.  He tossed them into Carlos' lap.  "That, I can do."

*****

They sat across from each other at David's kitchen table for hours, smoking every last cigarette in the entire loft, until David had lost count of how many butts had piled up in the dinner-plate- he'd-gotten-in-the-divorce-cum-ashtray a while ago. It was strange, to feel completely disassembled like this, and not have the heat of alcohol chasing down his throat to numb it.  Instead, he smoked with Carlos until they were both so hoarse they could barely talk anymore, but they didn't stop, even then - talking about anything that wasn't Joanna - that wasn't the thing that they should be talking about, if either of them were the least bit healthy.

"I think we're fucking _out_," he finally said, stubbing out the last cigarette that he'd smoked down to the filter, feeling the welcome, raw burn at the back of his throat, the sting in his eyes.  "Damn it."

Carlos sighed and leaned back, breathing out a stream of smoke and stretching his arms up over his head.  "That's probably a good thing, David," he said, putting his own cigarette out next to David's on the plate. "I'm not going to be able to talk tomorrow."

They sat there; it was finally silent between them.  Once there wasn't anything left in his hands, anything else for him to do, David felt himself collapsing under the weight of it.  He could still feel her there - she was the last person to be in this apartment with him before Carlos.  She was the last person he'd given anything to, and he wished like hell that he hadn't.  That he would learn his fucking lesson already.

And suddenly, before he knew it, he was up on his feet, leaving a startled and drowsy Carlos slouched back in his chair behind the table.  David had to move, he had to fucking _do something_ already; he wasn't used to people he knew, that he - jesus, _fuck_, he was a goddamn idiot - cared about, just dying of some stupid fucking bacterial infection that he couldn't do anything about.  It happened to other people, but not _them_.

He was standing in the middle of his living room, looking around desperately for something he could send his fist flying through, perfectly and neatly, already feeling the stinging relief of letting something out.  Something that would knock him out somehow, take this away, all of this - fuck - he didn't want this.  He'd never wanted this. 

The blood was rushing in his ears, which was the best explanation he had for why he didn't hear anything before he felt the strong arms wrap around him from behind, drag him in close.  He could feel Carlos' heart beating, almost as fast as his own, the beats almost meeting up but not quite, and Carlos' breath was smoky and heavy and hot on his neck.  "David," he murmured, his lips close, the rasp of his late-day stubble rough. 

"Back the fuck off, Carlos," he gritted out, struggling against the arms around him, but Carlos was strong, stronger than David realized, and he wasn't letting go.  "I'm not kidding."

"I know," Carlos answered, his voice low and soft, arms still tight around David.  "I miss her too." 

He didn't want to do this, not now, not like this - fuck, not ever.  "I don't miss her, not at all." 

"You're a liar." 

"Fuck you," he said, spitting and angry.

"Can't you come up with something better than that?" Carlos said, and David could feel himself being drawn closer, feel Carlos' whole body hot and hard along his back.  It felt good, to be close to someone, and he hated that.  He didn't want to feel good at all; he wanted to feel nothing. 

"God, Carlos, I don't fucking know!" he shouted, and yelled as loud as he could - not words, just sounds.  He'd be worried about pissing off his neighbors, but this was nothing in the grand scheme of things he'd done in here to piss them off.  When he stopped, he was panting shallowly, feeling like he had come down off the edge, just a little.  "Let me go."

Carlos pressed his lips to the skin underneath David's ear, and David could feel himself giving in spite of himself.  "No," Carlos answered, and David relaxed, just enough, and the world went blurry in front of him, Carlos holding him up. 

*****

David's mouth tasted like an ashtray, which normally didn't bother him all that much, after years of mornings after like that one.  It had been a few months since he'd had a night like that, although the usual pulsing pain between his eyes was noticeably absent.  He blinked up at the ceiling, and it took a couple of seconds for his eyes to adjust enough to notice that it was still dark out, and that he hadn't been sleeping long.

David didn't remember much of what happened after Carlos had grabbed him, held on, but there he was, sprawled out on his couch with his head in Carlos' lap, Carlos' fingers carding through his hair.  It didn't make any sense, but it felt good, so he just went with it.

"Hey," Carlos said, looking down, his eyes soft but unsmiling, his fingers still moving in a gentle, soothing rhythm.  David closed his eyes again, just for a moment.

"Did you sleep?" he asked.

Carlos shook his head.  "Not really." 

"We should probably sleep - our flight leaves in seven hours."

"You're right," Carlos said, leaning his head against the back of the couch, not moving. 

Carlos' leg was strong and warm under his cheek as he turned his head, Carlos' fingers slipping out of his hair.  He wasn't sure how he'd ended up here, but nothing about Carlos being there with him surprised him at all.  He always seemed to be there, whenever something happened.  Mayko was usually there too, and Bob, but it was different with Carlos.  He got inside in a way that David didn't exactly give permission for, but there he was, pushing and pulling and holding on and knowing what David needed even when he didn't know himself.  He was the only one who had always stayed, well past his welcome. 

David wasn't even sure that what he was doing even constituted a decision, but he swung his legs around and planted his feet on the floor, standing up.  He turned to face Carlos, whose head was still reclined, but his eyes were wide open and dark.  David held out one hand in front of him, bridging the open space between them.  "Come on."

"What?" Carlos said, looking genuinely confused.

"I said come the fuck on," David said again, his voice softer than his words.  Carlos blinked once, twice, recognition of what was on offer on his face, and then reached out, unwavering, to grasp David's hand firmly in his own.  His hand was warm and his grip was strong, like he wasn't ever going to let go.  David pulled Carlos up to his feet and walked backward slowly but with purpose, not letting go of Carlos' hand. Carlos moved with him, kept pace, the sheer fucking emotional nightmare of the last few days finally showing around his eyes. They didn't say anything, until they were in David's bedroom, the warm welcome of his unmade bed, the last place he'd been with - with Joanna, behind him. 

David let Carlos' hand drop, and Carlos started to move away, putting his shoulders back, trying to hide, but David was faster - he had the benefit of surprise in this situation - and he grabbed onto the front of Carlos' light blue dress shirt.  They were both still in their funeral clothes. 

"Come to bed," David said, his fingers making quick work of the small, white buttons of Carlos' shirt, exposing the skin of his chest inch by inch, as Carlos breathed harder and tried to keep still.  He knew this was stupid, that it was probably just some kind of twisted consolation, but Carlos was here - he was real.  David loosened his grip a little as he reached the bottom of the row, giving Carlos the license to walk away, to abandon ship like he should do if he knew what was good for him, but he just stayed, eyes locked on David's and his muscles finally unclenching, and let David remove the layers, piece by piece.


End file.
